


The Bug-Sitter

by whumphoarder



Series: Cassie & Peter Being Buds [1]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renegotiated Sokovia Accords, Babysitting, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Iron Dad, Irondad, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Peter Parker is good with kids, Stitches, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting, but that's the fun of fanfic i suppose, idk how realistic this situation is, this is so much fluffier than i'm used to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: Peter attempts to babysit ten-year-old Cassie Lang at the Avengers compound and Tony goes into Full Dad-Mode™.





	The Bug-Sitter

It had been Pepper’s suggestion to host all of the recently pardoned Avengers at the compound for the renegotiation of the Sokovia Accords. The idea was that a two-day summit for everyone to discuss the proposed changes and voice their concerns in a familiar environment would be the most diplomatic way to help clear the air between them.

Tony had initially scoffed at the concept. “I could have sworn last time you were _against_ me inviting people who want to kill me to our home.”

She had rolled her eyes. “Those were literal terrorists, Tony. These are just disgruntled co-workers with a lot of emotional baggage to work through.”

(He hadn’t told her about Siberia yet.)

But eventually, Tony had given in. He had then proceeded to spend most of the next two weeks pitching the concept of the summit to both the State and his ex-teammates.

Getting Ant-Man to attend had been a hard sell, but not for the reasons Tony had expected. He’d assumed that Scott would be salty about the two years of house arrest he’d endured following his plea deal. But in reality, he’d seemed genuinely glad for the invitation, except for the fact that it was his weekend with his daughter and he couldn’t imagine her being very interested in two days worth of legal negotiations.

Thankfully, Tony had come up with a solution.

**X**

“You can’t catch me!” Cassie shouted, running down the corridor outside the conference room where Tony and several others were having a coffee break.

A half-second later, a certain sixteen-year-old came barreling after her, skidding around the corner on his socks. “Oh yeah?” Peter laughed back. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but had the web-shooters strapped to his wrists. He fired one at the door handle at the end of the hallway, trapping her. Cassie squealed in delight.

Tony groaned. “Peter, what did I say about shooting webs inside the compound?”

Lowering his arm, the teenager gave him a sheepish grin. “Um… not to?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any real heat there. “Correct. Because last time you destroyed one of Pepper’s precious modern art pieces and I had to hear about it for days.”

“Okay but normally it would have dissolved,” Peter defended. “It’s just that I was testing out a new formula that day.”

“Yeah well it sucked,” Tony retorted.

His eyes sparkling, Peter stuck out his tongue at his mentor. “Let’s go Cassie,” he said, grabbing her hand and spinning around. “Mr. Stark is being a meanie.”

“Okay!” Cassie giggled as the two raced off.

“And don’t run in socks!” Tony yelled after them. He added in a grumble, “Enhanced metabolism or not, this is the last time I let that kid eat four donuts for breakfast.”

From beside him, Clint and Sam glanced at each other before both snorting in laughter.

Tony glared at them. “What?”

“You’ve gone full on dad-mode,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Next you’re gonna start coaching his soccer team while wearing socks and sandals.”

“Shut your beaks, bird brains,” Tony muttered back.

**X**

“So wait, let me get this straight. You can actually talk to the ants?” Peter asked in amazement. He made eye contact with Cassie, who was sitting across the table from him. “Is your dad making this up?”

Despite it being the allotted lunch break, Steve and Rhodey were unofficially continuing their debate over a particular clause in the Accords at one end of the room. After an entire morning of tense back and forth discussion, Tony couldn’t be bothered to join in. He slid in next to Peter at the opposite end of the long dining table instead.

“No he really can!” Cassie confirmed. “And he gave me a pet ant too, but she’s gigantic. I call her Antastasia.”

Scott chuckled. He pulled out his phone and showed off a few pictures of the truly hideous looking creature.

“I’m teaching her fetch,” Cassie said proudly.

“That’s awesome!” Peter said enthusiastically. “People ask me all the time if I can talk to spiders and I always thought it was a really dumb question but...” He turned to look up at Tony. “What do you say, Mr. Stark? Can I have a spider army?”

Tony snorted out a laugh. “Kid, you practically initiated the suit’s instant kill mode last week because a spider walked into your shower. How exactly are you gonna handle a spider army?”

“Well they wouldn’t be scary if I could talk to them,” Peter argued. “I mean imagine if I just could have talked to that little guy last week. Just be like, ‘oh excuse me sir, this shower is occupied’. And he’d be like”—Peter put on a posh British accent—“oh I’m terribly sorry old chap, guess I’ll be on my way then.”

Cassie giggled. “You stole that from tumblr.”

Scott’s eyes widened in horror. “What do you know about tumblr? You’re way too young for that.”

“Am not. I’m in fifth grade,” she quipped back.

Scott sighed dramatically. “What ever happened to my little girl?” he wondered. He gestured to Cassie’s mostly untouched plate. “Aren’t you gonna eat your lunch?”

“I’m not hungry.” She stuck out her lip in a pout. “My tummy hurts.”

“Aw, why’s that, Peanut?” Scott asked. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer into a side hug. Cassie immediately nestled into his arms with a sigh. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uh, actually that might be my fault,” he confessed. “We were watching a movie together and we sorta ate a bunch of Twizzlers and popcorn.”

“And M&Ms,” Cassie added. “And those peanut butter filled pretzels. And some fruit roll-ups.”

“Oh yeah, and the pudding cups...” Peter remembered. 

Cassie made a face and held her tummy. “Ugh,” she groaned. Scott chuckled at her and planted a quick kiss on the top of her head.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I see I’ll have to restock the snack cabinet"—he shot Peter a glare—"for the third time this month.”

“Oops,” Peter said, grinning. He glanced down at his own plate, which still held about a quarter of his lunch. “But hey, on the plus side, I think I’m actually full now.”

Tony gasped in fake astonishment. “Wait a minute, hold the press… Are you telling me _Peter Parker is full_? As in, not hungry anymore??”

Now it was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“No, no. This is a historic day,” Tony went on. “I mean, popcorn and candy aren’t even very dense foods. The _sheer quantity_ that must have taken…” He cut himself off. “Hey Nat,” Tony called up the table.

From three seats down, Natasha looked up from her conversation with Bruce and Clint. “What Tony?”

“Peter is actually _full_.”

“There is a God,” Natasha deadpanned. She turned back to Bruce, who was smiling and shaking his head now.

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter whined, his cheeks reddening. “Stop trying to embarrass me in front of assassins and world-renowned scientists.”

Tony smirked at him. “Oh I’m not trying, kid. I’m succeeding.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groaned, standing up. “C’mon Cassie, let’s go finish watching Tangled.”

“Hey Stark,” Clint called over as the two kids left the room. Tony looked up and the moment the archer caught his eye, he mouthed, _Dad-mode_.

Tony flipped him off with a scowl.

**X**

After reconvening in the conference room, the team initially made quite a bit of progress after lunch. But by four in the afternoon, things had stalled. Steve, Rhodey, and Secretary Ross were going back and forth, tediously debating one particular detail of the proposal.

At this point, Tony was bored out of his mind, twirling a pen around his fingers with one hand and scrolling through his phone under the table with the other. Pepper occasionally shot him a glare.

Urgent knocking at the door interrupted Steve mid-sentence. Tony couldn’t be happier to get the man to shut up.

Without waiting for a response, Cassie—now sporting two french braids in her hair and a determined expression on her face—pushed the door open. “I need help,” she announced.

Scott jumped up from the table immediately. “Sorry, I got it, you guys go on,” he said quickly to the group.

Steve seized the opportunity to try to steer the conversation back to his point. “Anyway, as I was saying about section 42b…”

“What’s up, Peanut?” Scott asked in a hushed voice.

But to everyone’s surprise, Cassie wiggled out of Scott’s grip and right over to where Tony was seated. “Are you Peter’s dad?” she somehow managed to blurt and whisper at the same time.

It was a rare day when Captain America was rendered speechless. Scott and Bruce coughed awkwardly. Sam, Wanda, and Rhodey all stifled laughter. Even Secretary Ross smirked.

“Called it,” Clint muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes at the kid. “Why?”

“He needs you,” she said simply.

“Hey no, Cassie, Mr. Stark is really busy right now,” Scott said quickly, trying to steer her back to the door. “C’mon, let’s go back outside —”

“But Peter needs help,” she insisted. "He got hurt.”

That got Tony’s attention. “What? How?” he demanded. He was on his feet immediately, partly from actual concern and partly just happy for an excuse to get out of the stuffy conference room.

“We were playing tag,” Cassie explained. “He sorta ran into a glass door and smashed it.”

Once again, the room was filled with the sound of snorts and stifled laughter from the other Avengers.

Tony just rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “He was running in socks again, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Cassie admitted. There was a beat. “Uh, he’s bleeding.”

“Alright.” With an exasperated sigh, Tony made a dramatic gesture towards the door. “Lead the way, kid.”

**X**

Fifteen minutes later, Peter was sitting on a cot in Medbay, pressing a fresh gauze pad to a cut above his eyebrow that had been bleeding freely. Tony stood beside him, applying pressure to a blood-soaked towel that covered a substantial gash on the kid’s forearm. An array of smaller, superficial cuts were scattered over the rest of his upper body.

“To be fair, Mr. Stark,” Peter quipped, “you didn’t let me know you’d just had all the windows and doors washed.”

“What is even the point of those spider senses of yours if they can’t warn you that you’re about to brain yourself on a glass door?” Tony wondered.

Peter just shrugged. “I don’t know.” There was a beat. “I can usually tell when it’s gonna rain.”

After Tony and Scott had hurried off with Cassie, exhaustion from the day’s marathon negotiation session combined with a total lack of motivation to continue without them had driven the remaining Avengers to adjourn for the day. Most had retired to their own rooms, but a few of the more curious ones had wandered down to see what had become of Peter. Cassie was only too willing to give anyone who asked a dramatic reenactment of the event, much to Peter’s embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Bruce was perched on a little stool next to the bed, threading a surgical needle.

“Is this really necessary?” Peter asked nervously. “I heal really fast.” He pulled the gauze pad off his face. “See? This one is pretty much clotted already.”

“Enhanced or not, you’re gonna have some nasty scars if we don’t fix this,” Tony replied.

“Scars are awesome though,” Peter argued, eying the needle warily. “Bet you have some cool ones, Mr. Stark.”

“No deflecting, kid,” Tony said. “Now let the makeshift doctor stitch you up.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows in mock offense. “Makeshift, huh? I have seven PhDs, Tony. Seven.”

“And exactly zero of those are MDs,” Tony pointed out. “Making you just as much a doctor as I am.”

“Feel free to take over then,” Bruce offered with a smirk. “There’s gloves on the table.”

“If you two useless doctors don’t start stitching soon, _I’m_ taking over,” Clint threatened. He was perched on top of a file cabinet, sitting cross legged. Tony had known the man long enough not to question his aversion to normal chairs anymore.

Peter groaned. “Can’t I just bleed out in peace?”

“What, you don’t think I’d do a good job?” Clint challenged. “Haven't I ever told you about the time I was on a three-week mission to Panama with no evac and I had to sew my own toe back on?”

“No way!” Cassie exclaimed. She was sitting snuggled up next to Scott on the bed closest to Peter, watching with a mix of interest and disgust as Bruce cleaned the wounds with antiseptic.

“Oh yes way.” Clint nodded seriously. He started pulling off his right boot. “C’mere and I’ll show you.”

While Barton launched into a rather embellished version of his tale, Tony moved around the bed to hover on Peter’s other side. The kid had held it together like a champ so far, but now was looking paler by the second and Tony couldn’t be sure if it was from the blood loss or the prospect of what Bruce was about to do.

“You alright, kiddo?” Tony whispered.

Peter nodded, eyes transfixed on the needle with which Bruce was preparing to start the sutures. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered. His breath hitched. “Why are we doing stitches again? Don’t they make glue for this stuff now?”

“Do you not like needles, Peter?” Bruce asked gently.

Peter let out a short, humorless laugh. “Does anyone?”

Tony balked at him. “Kid, I’ve seen you stop a car with your bare hands without a second thought. But you’re scared of a couple stitches?”

“It’s not that I’m _scared_ exactly,” Peter defended as Bruce and Tony guided him to lay flat on the bed. “It’s more the idea of it that I don’t like.” He gave a shudder. “It’s just… creepy, you know?”

Scott seemed to catch on to the boy’s unease. _I got this_ , he mouthed to Tony, pulling out his phone. “Hey Peter, did Cassie show you the video of Antastasia chasing the mailman?”

Between Scott’s distractions and Tony’s quiet encouragements, Peter managed to keep it together pretty well, only barely flinching each time the needle pierced his skin. There were fourteen stitches in total—eleven for the arm, and three over his eye.

As Bruce tied off the final suture, Clint was just reaching the end of his story.

“...And that’s why I can never wear sandals again. Because Director Fury is an asshat,” Clint concluded, wiggling his bare toes at the giggling ten-year-old.

“All done,” Bruce announced. “You did great, Peter. How are you feeling?”

“Uh… I’m okay.” Peter pushed himself up to sitting. “Whoa...”

Seeing the color drain from Peter’s face, Tony grabbed the elbow of his good arm. “Let’s try that again,” Tony said. "This time less lying.”

Peter swallowed hard. “Not great,” he amended.

Tony frowned in concern, moving closer to get a better look at Peter’s face. “Not great how?”

“Just kinda dizzy,” Peter mumbled. “And my ears are ringing… and...”

That was all the warning Tony got before the kid was suddenly throwing up his impressive lunch all down Tony’s shirt.

“...And sick,” Cassie finished for him, wrinkling up her nose.

Peter looked positively mortified. “Oh god,” he gagged, “Oh god, ‘m so sorry, Mr. St’rk.”

While Bruce shoved a plastic bowl under Peter’s mouth to catch the next round and Scott ran off to find paper towels, Clint could only chuckle at Tony’s utter speechlessness.

“Eww…” Cassie pointed at some multi-colored flecks in the vomit. “I see the M&Ms.”

“That was it—that was the final anointing,” Clint declared. He hopped off his perch and moved over to give Tony a hearty clap on the back. “Welcome to fatherhood, Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> How many dads can we fit in one story??
> 
> (every time you leave a comment, my little heart fills with joy)


End file.
